The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 23:23:34 -

The rain had turned the gravel drive into a slurry of grey mud that sucked at my tires as I pulled the rusted sedan up to the porch of the house my father had left me, a place he had called, in his final, slurred months, the Cage, a name that sounded less like a description of architecture and more like a diagnosis of a soul trapped in its own marrow. I had driven for six hours from the city...

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